Categories > Original > Horror > The LaLaurie House
At 3:25 that morning, a mere forty-five minutes after going to bed, I woke to the sound of water dripping nearby. Figuring that it was just raining outside, I turned over and drifted back into sleep. Ten minutes later, I woke again, this time to the feeling of something warm and wet running down my cheek onto my cheek.
"What the..." Jason must have felt something as well. I reached over and fumbled in the dark for the lamp. The switch was slippery, but I finally got it. As light flooded the room, I blinked back the sudden blindness, trying to adjust to the abrupt change from dark to light. At first, nothing seemed amiss. I swiped my hand over my face. For the second time that day, my fingers came back bloody. Another warm drop hit me on the top of my head, and looking up, I saw that the entire ceiling above us was covered with large spots of fresh blood!
Upon closer inspection, I noticed that smaller pools were accumulating on the floor, and a crimson stain was spreading over Jason's bed covers. The puddles on the ground were steadily growing larger and larger, and the sickening sound of blood dripping to the floor rang in my ears. Jason looked petrified.
I grabbed Jason's arm and made a dash for the door. There was no way I was staying in that room another second! The door was locked. I jiggled the handle to no avail, then started beating it with my fists. Just as Jason was about to ram it with his shoulder, the knob turned and the door swung open with a creak. Chris and Joshua stood on the other side.
"What's going on in here?" Chris demanded, pushing his way into our room. I turned, sweeping my arm out to indicate the mess of blood streaming down the walls and dripping from the ceiling, but there was nothing there. Our room was as clean as it was on the day we arrived, and the only hint of crimson to be found was the paint on the walls. Jason and I looked at each other helplessly. He checked his covers. Nothing there. I wiped a hand over my face. My hand was spotless.
"Well?" Chris looked impatient.
"I... There was blood everywhere! It was dripping from the ceiling! It woke us up, and it was all over the floor and our beds, and..."
"Well, you certainly did a good job cleaning it all up." He laughed sarcastically. "What was all that banging about?"
"We were trying to get out, but our door was locked!"
"Didn't look locked to me." Joshua turned to leave.
"Were not kidding!"
"Save your ghost stories for another time. We're tired." With that, Chris and Joshua left; leaving us alone in the room. I looked around helplessly. Jason and I were both sane individuals. There was no way we could have imagined this!
"He's right. Let's just go back to sleep and pretend it was just a bad dream. What else could it be?" Jason sighed and slipped back into bed. I lay awake for quite awhile after that. I kept hearing imagined water droplets hitting the floor and ghostly footsteps in the attic above.
I wasn't very hungry at breakfast the next morning. I still felt sick over my experiences last night, and from what I had read in the book. Suddenly, the though occurred to me: the book had not been on the desk that morning! It had disappeared along with the stains! I decided that I could not wait until Monday to get more information on that house. I wanted to know more now, and I needed to find out how to stop this 'haunting,' or whatever it was, from getting worse.
Though I didn't fully believe in the practice, I surmised that visiting a Voodoo shop might be my best bet at getting help. The House of the Seven Sisters was the most infamous of the local shops; it had once belonged to the great Voodoo queen, Marie Laveau; so I decided to start there. The only problem was that 'Seven Sisters' was located in Algiers, on the opposite bank of the Mississippi, and I would need an excuse to get me there. As it turned out, however, my friends found one for me. Across the table, a conversation between Clara and Joshua piqued my interest.
"What are you all going to do since you have the whole day off? Andy was asking.
"Have you ever heard of Mardi Gras World?" Clara inquired.
"No."
"I have." I butted in. "Why? Do you want to go there?"
"Yeah, a bunch of us thought it would be neat to check out. Do you know where it is?"
"Sure, I'll go with you and show you. We can leave right after breakfast." The House of the Seven Sisters was less than a block from Mardi Gras World.
"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Ashley asked for the fourth time. Why she and her cronies had decided to come along in the first place was beyond me, but she was already getting on my nerves.
"Yes, I'm sure. Just a few more blocks. We're on Decatur right now, and soon we'll pass Riverfront Park. If you don't see that in five minutes, then you can doubt me." I heard muffled giggles from the others, and fought to repress a smirk of my own.
In five minutes, as promised, we passed the park, and in ten we arrived at the ferry. We boarded with no incident, and seated ourselves on the first deck, on one of the benches that were lined up against the chain-link guard rails. There was a cool breeze coming off of the water, and the small, yet choppy, waves made the boat rock slightly. It was a pleasant journey across the river, and we were soon on the other bank. Waiting for us, and the other tourists, was a green, yellow, and purple painted tour bus that would take us to Mardi Gras World. The driver, who introduced himself as Marty, was an old gentleman with short, gray, hair, a craggy face, and a thick Cajun accent. As we headed down Bouny Street, he took it upon himself to point out all of the old mansions in the neighborhood, and managed to keep up a running narrative on the various styles of architecture and notable families for the entire duration of the journey. When we turned onto Elmira Avenue, he even mentioned my own destination before stopping in front of Mardi Gras world.
As the rest of my party entered the gigantic warehouse, home to thousands of Mardi Gras floats and paraphernalia, I made a show of checking my pockets.
"Oh, guys, I think I left my wallet on the ferry! I'd better go back and get it! You guys go on ahead with the tour, and don't worry about me. I'll be fine!"
"Do you want me to go with you?" Jason suggested.
"No, just go on, I'll be back soon," I said as I started back down the street. I watched to make sure that they had all gone inside before I made towards 'Seven Sisters.' From the moment I walked in the door, I knew that I despised this place. Up until this point in the trip, I had felt completely safe while outside the confines of the LaLaurie house. Even while walking down the darkened Pirate's alley late at night, I had felt a sort of invincibility, like I belonged here. The second I stepped into the voodoo shop, that sense of security dropped off of me like a cloak. The burning incense made the air smoky, choking me. Odd charms dangling from rods over the counter, and the hundreds of grotesque masks grinning at me from the walls and ceiling all gave me a sense of foreboding. Despite my gut instinct to flee, however, I managed to stay calm and made my way to the back counter where a stooped old woman sat fiddling with a rosary.
"May I help you?" she croaked, not looking up.
"Uh... yes. At least, I hope so." I didn't know how to begin.
"We've got love potions, voodoo dolls, and 'gator heads on sale. What would you like?" She still did not look up at me
"Actually," I stuttered, "I have a... problem. You see, I'm staying at this house, the LaLaurie house, and..."
"What did you just say?" Her head snapped up, and she regarded me with her milky-white eyes. She was deeply wrinkled, had long, dread-locked, hair, and was missing several teeth. A fetid stench emanated from her mouth as she spoke.
"I'm staying in the LaLaurie house, and..." Again, she cut me off.
"And you have been seeing things, perhaps?"
"Uh... yes. I think so. Things have been happening. I hear footsteps in the hall when no one is there, and people fighting in other rooms. Last night," I shuddered, "my room, it was covered in blood, but then the blood was gone, and the book disappeared too..."
"The book?"
"Oh, yes. I was cleaning up the 'biography' section in the Lafayette Library, and I found this book. It was all about the Delphine LaLaurie and her husband. It talked about all of the horrible things they did..."
"And you say it disappeared?" she pressed.
"Yeah, last night. I think it went when all the blood just vanished."
"What is your name, young man?" Her question was so non-sequitur, it threw me off for a moment.
"Has your mind vanished along with your book?" she asked impatiently.
"Jack. My name is Jack. Sorry."
"And you may call me Marie." She flashed me a gap-toothed grin, then moved into a back room, beckoning me to follow. I was more than a little apprehensive, but I pushed aside the beaded curtain, and joined her at a small table. The room was cluttered floor to ceiling in books, skills, bottles, and other voodoo paraphernalia.
"That's better. We can talk back here. You never know what tourists may be listening in the main shop." She spat out the word 'tourist' as if it were a vile taste in her mouth. "What do they know? Now, what you have is a haunting. Not surprising, in fact, the LaLaurie mansion is one of the most haunted sites in all of New Orleans! I trust you are well acquainted with its most infamous residents, but what do you know of its more modern history?"
"Nothing," I confessed.
"Well, then I shall educate you. Forty years after the LaLauries fled from the mob, the mansion was a home to Italian immigrants. There are reports, from numerous individuals who lived there at that time, of seeing a large male, covered in chains and bloody rags, walking on the balcony. Several children claimed to have been chased by a woman who screamed at them in French, and who tried to strike them with a whip. One woman, a mother of twin infants, woke in the middle of the night to find that a sock had been shoved into the mouth of one of the babies. It was common for animals to be found decapitated in the courtyard, and another resident of the house reported seeing a man wandering around the courtyard holding his head in his hands. Before long these people vacated the home, and again the house sat vacant for several years.
"Ten years later, it was rented out as a furniture store. Shortly after the shop opened for business, the owner entered one morning to find that the entire inventory had been covered in blood. Believing he had been vandalized, he had the mess cleaned up and ordered new stock. When he experienced the same thing a second time, he decided to wait in the building overnight with a shotgun. Unwittingly falling asleep, he woke in the morning to find that his merchandise had been destroyed again, but no one had entered the building. He closed up shop for good two days later.
"One young entrepreneur tried to open what was to be 'The Haunted Saloon,' in the LaLaurie house, but locals refused to patron the place. Again, it sat vacant. Eventually the house much of the house fell into serious disrepair. When it was renovated five years ago, floor boards were replaced in the third floor slave quarters. The bodies of seventy-five people were found, and evidence indicates that they had been buried alive. The remains were removed from the property. To this day, no one will stay in the house for more than a month or so. A man by the name of Otis owns it now. He leases it out as an attraction, but I suppose he also rents rooms to unsuspecting church groups as well."
"How did you know I was with a church group?"
"I do believe you told me."
"No, I didn't." I was sure that I hadn't said a word. She just winked at me and gave me something that might have been intended as a sweet smile.
"So, if this whole 'haunting' thing is real..." I changed the subject.
"Of course it's real, boy! What else would it be?" Her habit of interrupting was starting to get on my nerves.
"What can I do to stop it? We still have to stay in that house for two more weeks! If it's this bad on the second night..." I shivered.
"There is one thing that might be done..." Her voice was low, and she spoke slowly.
"Anything," I pleaded.
"The spirits that are haunting the LaLaurie place, the ones who are causing all the trouble anyway, are the restless spirits of those who died young or by violence. In order to get rid of them, you must appease them. Give them what they want."
"What does that mean? How should I know what they want?"
"Let me ask you this: who in your party has had the most contact with these beings?"
"I think that would be me," I said. "Jason and I are the only ones who have really seen anything, and I was alone when I was attac..."
"You were attacked? Physically?" Was that excitement in her voice? What a strange old crone.
"Yes. I was in the bathroom. They threw a book at my head," I remembered bitterly.
"Did it draw blood?" she pressed.
"Yeah, a little." I absently drew a hand up to feel the knot that had formed at the base of my skull.
"And no one else in your group has been harmed or physically threatened?"
"Not that I know of."
"Good." She lapsed into a contemplative silence that set my nerves on edge.
"So... you said there might be something you could do to get rid of them?"
"There's nothing I can do! It's obvious that you're the one they have chosen, so you're the only one that can act now."
"Chosen?"
"Yes, chosen. Now, if I remember correctly, you said you would do whatever it takes to appease these spirits?"
"Yes!" I was getting sick of her endless questions and cryptic answers.
"Alright," she sighed, "you'd better get going. Your friends are starting to wonder where you ran off to. I will meet you at 1140 Royal Street at 11:15 tonight. I will bring everything you will need, but do not be late."
"But I don't even know what I'm supposed to do!"
"I will help you, don't worry. Now, go."
I rose from the table, mumbled a 'thanks' over my shoulder, and passed through the beaded curtain into the main shop. A nuclear family, each member wearing Mardi Gras t-shirts and fanny packs, was inspecting the shelves of various oddities. The father, looking up, asked me for the price on a dried alligator head. I informed him that I didn't work there, and continued out the door. Peeking around a corner, I made sure that the coast was clear before jogging back to the entrance of Mardi Gras.
The tour of the place had just gotten over, and I arrived just in time to see Jason shove a whole piece of the complimentary King Cake into his mouth.
"What took so long?" he asked. His tongue and lips were stained purple from the sugary pastry.
"I missed the bus. I had to walk to the ferry and back.
"Did you find it?"
"Yep. It was right where I left it."
"What the..." Jason must have felt something as well. I reached over and fumbled in the dark for the lamp. The switch was slippery, but I finally got it. As light flooded the room, I blinked back the sudden blindness, trying to adjust to the abrupt change from dark to light. At first, nothing seemed amiss. I swiped my hand over my face. For the second time that day, my fingers came back bloody. Another warm drop hit me on the top of my head, and looking up, I saw that the entire ceiling above us was covered with large spots of fresh blood!
Upon closer inspection, I noticed that smaller pools were accumulating on the floor, and a crimson stain was spreading over Jason's bed covers. The puddles on the ground were steadily growing larger and larger, and the sickening sound of blood dripping to the floor rang in my ears. Jason looked petrified.
I grabbed Jason's arm and made a dash for the door. There was no way I was staying in that room another second! The door was locked. I jiggled the handle to no avail, then started beating it with my fists. Just as Jason was about to ram it with his shoulder, the knob turned and the door swung open with a creak. Chris and Joshua stood on the other side.
"What's going on in here?" Chris demanded, pushing his way into our room. I turned, sweeping my arm out to indicate the mess of blood streaming down the walls and dripping from the ceiling, but there was nothing there. Our room was as clean as it was on the day we arrived, and the only hint of crimson to be found was the paint on the walls. Jason and I looked at each other helplessly. He checked his covers. Nothing there. I wiped a hand over my face. My hand was spotless.
"Well?" Chris looked impatient.
"I... There was blood everywhere! It was dripping from the ceiling! It woke us up, and it was all over the floor and our beds, and..."
"Well, you certainly did a good job cleaning it all up." He laughed sarcastically. "What was all that banging about?"
"We were trying to get out, but our door was locked!"
"Didn't look locked to me." Joshua turned to leave.
"Were not kidding!"
"Save your ghost stories for another time. We're tired." With that, Chris and Joshua left; leaving us alone in the room. I looked around helplessly. Jason and I were both sane individuals. There was no way we could have imagined this!
"He's right. Let's just go back to sleep and pretend it was just a bad dream. What else could it be?" Jason sighed and slipped back into bed. I lay awake for quite awhile after that. I kept hearing imagined water droplets hitting the floor and ghostly footsteps in the attic above.
I wasn't very hungry at breakfast the next morning. I still felt sick over my experiences last night, and from what I had read in the book. Suddenly, the though occurred to me: the book had not been on the desk that morning! It had disappeared along with the stains! I decided that I could not wait until Monday to get more information on that house. I wanted to know more now, and I needed to find out how to stop this 'haunting,' or whatever it was, from getting worse.
Though I didn't fully believe in the practice, I surmised that visiting a Voodoo shop might be my best bet at getting help. The House of the Seven Sisters was the most infamous of the local shops; it had once belonged to the great Voodoo queen, Marie Laveau; so I decided to start there. The only problem was that 'Seven Sisters' was located in Algiers, on the opposite bank of the Mississippi, and I would need an excuse to get me there. As it turned out, however, my friends found one for me. Across the table, a conversation between Clara and Joshua piqued my interest.
"What are you all going to do since you have the whole day off? Andy was asking.
"Have you ever heard of Mardi Gras World?" Clara inquired.
"No."
"I have." I butted in. "Why? Do you want to go there?"
"Yeah, a bunch of us thought it would be neat to check out. Do you know where it is?"
"Sure, I'll go with you and show you. We can leave right after breakfast." The House of the Seven Sisters was less than a block from Mardi Gras World.
"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Ashley asked for the fourth time. Why she and her cronies had decided to come along in the first place was beyond me, but she was already getting on my nerves.
"Yes, I'm sure. Just a few more blocks. We're on Decatur right now, and soon we'll pass Riverfront Park. If you don't see that in five minutes, then you can doubt me." I heard muffled giggles from the others, and fought to repress a smirk of my own.
In five minutes, as promised, we passed the park, and in ten we arrived at the ferry. We boarded with no incident, and seated ourselves on the first deck, on one of the benches that were lined up against the chain-link guard rails. There was a cool breeze coming off of the water, and the small, yet choppy, waves made the boat rock slightly. It was a pleasant journey across the river, and we were soon on the other bank. Waiting for us, and the other tourists, was a green, yellow, and purple painted tour bus that would take us to Mardi Gras World. The driver, who introduced himself as Marty, was an old gentleman with short, gray, hair, a craggy face, and a thick Cajun accent. As we headed down Bouny Street, he took it upon himself to point out all of the old mansions in the neighborhood, and managed to keep up a running narrative on the various styles of architecture and notable families for the entire duration of the journey. When we turned onto Elmira Avenue, he even mentioned my own destination before stopping in front of Mardi Gras world.
As the rest of my party entered the gigantic warehouse, home to thousands of Mardi Gras floats and paraphernalia, I made a show of checking my pockets.
"Oh, guys, I think I left my wallet on the ferry! I'd better go back and get it! You guys go on ahead with the tour, and don't worry about me. I'll be fine!"
"Do you want me to go with you?" Jason suggested.
"No, just go on, I'll be back soon," I said as I started back down the street. I watched to make sure that they had all gone inside before I made towards 'Seven Sisters.' From the moment I walked in the door, I knew that I despised this place. Up until this point in the trip, I had felt completely safe while outside the confines of the LaLaurie house. Even while walking down the darkened Pirate's alley late at night, I had felt a sort of invincibility, like I belonged here. The second I stepped into the voodoo shop, that sense of security dropped off of me like a cloak. The burning incense made the air smoky, choking me. Odd charms dangling from rods over the counter, and the hundreds of grotesque masks grinning at me from the walls and ceiling all gave me a sense of foreboding. Despite my gut instinct to flee, however, I managed to stay calm and made my way to the back counter where a stooped old woman sat fiddling with a rosary.
"May I help you?" she croaked, not looking up.
"Uh... yes. At least, I hope so." I didn't know how to begin.
"We've got love potions, voodoo dolls, and 'gator heads on sale. What would you like?" She still did not look up at me
"Actually," I stuttered, "I have a... problem. You see, I'm staying at this house, the LaLaurie house, and..."
"What did you just say?" Her head snapped up, and she regarded me with her milky-white eyes. She was deeply wrinkled, had long, dread-locked, hair, and was missing several teeth. A fetid stench emanated from her mouth as she spoke.
"I'm staying in the LaLaurie house, and..." Again, she cut me off.
"And you have been seeing things, perhaps?"
"Uh... yes. I think so. Things have been happening. I hear footsteps in the hall when no one is there, and people fighting in other rooms. Last night," I shuddered, "my room, it was covered in blood, but then the blood was gone, and the book disappeared too..."
"The book?"
"Oh, yes. I was cleaning up the 'biography' section in the Lafayette Library, and I found this book. It was all about the Delphine LaLaurie and her husband. It talked about all of the horrible things they did..."
"And you say it disappeared?" she pressed.
"Yeah, last night. I think it went when all the blood just vanished."
"What is your name, young man?" Her question was so non-sequitur, it threw me off for a moment.
"Has your mind vanished along with your book?" she asked impatiently.
"Jack. My name is Jack. Sorry."
"And you may call me Marie." She flashed me a gap-toothed grin, then moved into a back room, beckoning me to follow. I was more than a little apprehensive, but I pushed aside the beaded curtain, and joined her at a small table. The room was cluttered floor to ceiling in books, skills, bottles, and other voodoo paraphernalia.
"That's better. We can talk back here. You never know what tourists may be listening in the main shop." She spat out the word 'tourist' as if it were a vile taste in her mouth. "What do they know? Now, what you have is a haunting. Not surprising, in fact, the LaLaurie mansion is one of the most haunted sites in all of New Orleans! I trust you are well acquainted with its most infamous residents, but what do you know of its more modern history?"
"Nothing," I confessed.
"Well, then I shall educate you. Forty years after the LaLauries fled from the mob, the mansion was a home to Italian immigrants. There are reports, from numerous individuals who lived there at that time, of seeing a large male, covered in chains and bloody rags, walking on the balcony. Several children claimed to have been chased by a woman who screamed at them in French, and who tried to strike them with a whip. One woman, a mother of twin infants, woke in the middle of the night to find that a sock had been shoved into the mouth of one of the babies. It was common for animals to be found decapitated in the courtyard, and another resident of the house reported seeing a man wandering around the courtyard holding his head in his hands. Before long these people vacated the home, and again the house sat vacant for several years.
"Ten years later, it was rented out as a furniture store. Shortly after the shop opened for business, the owner entered one morning to find that the entire inventory had been covered in blood. Believing he had been vandalized, he had the mess cleaned up and ordered new stock. When he experienced the same thing a second time, he decided to wait in the building overnight with a shotgun. Unwittingly falling asleep, he woke in the morning to find that his merchandise had been destroyed again, but no one had entered the building. He closed up shop for good two days later.
"One young entrepreneur tried to open what was to be 'The Haunted Saloon,' in the LaLaurie house, but locals refused to patron the place. Again, it sat vacant. Eventually the house much of the house fell into serious disrepair. When it was renovated five years ago, floor boards were replaced in the third floor slave quarters. The bodies of seventy-five people were found, and evidence indicates that they had been buried alive. The remains were removed from the property. To this day, no one will stay in the house for more than a month or so. A man by the name of Otis owns it now. He leases it out as an attraction, but I suppose he also rents rooms to unsuspecting church groups as well."
"How did you know I was with a church group?"
"I do believe you told me."
"No, I didn't." I was sure that I hadn't said a word. She just winked at me and gave me something that might have been intended as a sweet smile.
"So, if this whole 'haunting' thing is real..." I changed the subject.
"Of course it's real, boy! What else would it be?" Her habit of interrupting was starting to get on my nerves.
"What can I do to stop it? We still have to stay in that house for two more weeks! If it's this bad on the second night..." I shivered.
"There is one thing that might be done..." Her voice was low, and she spoke slowly.
"Anything," I pleaded.
"The spirits that are haunting the LaLaurie place, the ones who are causing all the trouble anyway, are the restless spirits of those who died young or by violence. In order to get rid of them, you must appease them. Give them what they want."
"What does that mean? How should I know what they want?"
"Let me ask you this: who in your party has had the most contact with these beings?"
"I think that would be me," I said. "Jason and I are the only ones who have really seen anything, and I was alone when I was attac..."
"You were attacked? Physically?" Was that excitement in her voice? What a strange old crone.
"Yes. I was in the bathroom. They threw a book at my head," I remembered bitterly.
"Did it draw blood?" she pressed.
"Yeah, a little." I absently drew a hand up to feel the knot that had formed at the base of my skull.
"And no one else in your group has been harmed or physically threatened?"
"Not that I know of."
"Good." She lapsed into a contemplative silence that set my nerves on edge.
"So... you said there might be something you could do to get rid of them?"
"There's nothing I can do! It's obvious that you're the one they have chosen, so you're the only one that can act now."
"Chosen?"
"Yes, chosen. Now, if I remember correctly, you said you would do whatever it takes to appease these spirits?"
"Yes!" I was getting sick of her endless questions and cryptic answers.
"Alright," she sighed, "you'd better get going. Your friends are starting to wonder where you ran off to. I will meet you at 1140 Royal Street at 11:15 tonight. I will bring everything you will need, but do not be late."
"But I don't even know what I'm supposed to do!"
"I will help you, don't worry. Now, go."
I rose from the table, mumbled a 'thanks' over my shoulder, and passed through the beaded curtain into the main shop. A nuclear family, each member wearing Mardi Gras t-shirts and fanny packs, was inspecting the shelves of various oddities. The father, looking up, asked me for the price on a dried alligator head. I informed him that I didn't work there, and continued out the door. Peeking around a corner, I made sure that the coast was clear before jogging back to the entrance of Mardi Gras.
The tour of the place had just gotten over, and I arrived just in time to see Jason shove a whole piece of the complimentary King Cake into his mouth.
"What took so long?" he asked. His tongue and lips were stained purple from the sugary pastry.
"I missed the bus. I had to walk to the ferry and back.
"Did you find it?"
"Yep. It was right where I left it."
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